Logic dictates that wine should smell and taste of the grapes from which it is made. Reality
tells us that most wines (the Muscats being a notable exception) give us notes that will be
anything but grape. The wine novice will ask, “Do they actually put pineapple
(lemon/licorice/leather) into the wine?” “They,” of course, do not. The ripe grapes just
plucked from the vine have already been coaxed by their keepers into stimulating chemical
directions; maceration, fermentation, aging and other winemaking activities keep the
complexity train on track. Some of these wine components remain mysterious, but science can
ratchet up the logic that initially left us scratching our heads and explain to a great
extent—leaving a few intangibles for the poets among us—how those aroma notes got there.
Certain Cabernet Sauvignon or Sauvignon Blanc wines reveal notes of green bell pepper, for
example, not because peppers have been thrown into the fermenting vat with the grapes, but
because the wines, like the peppers, contain the flavor compound
isobutyl-methoxypyrazine (IBMP). The related compound
isopropyl-methoxypyrazine (IPMP) brings on the canned asparagus taste found in
some wines. Wines that undergo malolactic fermentation, a secondary process in which
bacteria help break down the wine's malic acid into softer lactic acid, often show signs of
diacetyl, which translates into the buttery, nutty or toasty flavors common (and
sometimes a bit too pushy) in many New World Chardonnays. The tobacco note will make a
wine scientist give a knowing nod: “yup, that's megastigmatrienone again, doing
what it does best.”
The science here is handy not because we need to memorize all these formulaic terms, but
because it shows us that wines have aroma and flavor notes for perfectly explainable
scientific reasons. Using the science, Ann C. Noble and her colleagues at the University of
California at Davis have over the years refined a system of descriptive wine notes that they
have incorporated into an “Aroma Wheel.” The wheel, which is available in a number of
languages and also in a sparkling wine version, is color coded and sensibly laminated (else I
imagine it would quickly begin to give off aroma notes of its own). The wheel, which is
about the size of one of those individual pizzas, is six dollars and is available at
www.winearomawheel.com.
“The requirements for words to be included in the wheel,” the instructions indicate, “are that
the terms are specific and analytical and not hedonic or the result of an integrated or
judgmental approach. 'Floral' is a general but analytical descriptive term, whereas
'fragrant,' 'elegant,' or 'harmonious' are either imprecise and vague (fragrant) or
hedonic and judgmental (elegant and harmonious).” The wheel sticks carefully to that which
we can taste and smell, avoiding questions of color, clarity, body, astringency, texture,
viscosity, and other wine qualities we see or feel.
The wheel is arranged in three concentric circles, ranging from the most general in the center
to more specific manifestations at the edges. As an example, the large category called
“Fruity” breaks down into six sub-categories: “Citrus,” “Berry,” “Tree Fruit,” “Tropical
Fruit,” “Dried and Cooked Fruit,” and “other.” Each of these categories is subdivided into
specific fruit notes; “Tree Fruit” includes cherry, apricot, peach, and apple. The
“Herbaceous/Vegetative” category breaks down into “Fresh,” Canned/Cooked,” and “Dried”
subcategories; our bell pepper (which we now know is IBMP) shares the “Fresh” category
with cut green grass, eucalyptus and mint, while the asparagus (IPMP) shares the
“Canned/Cooked” category with green bean, green olive, black olive and artichoke. The
interesting “Dried” category includes hay/straw (one of my absolute favorites) and tea.
Of course, not every wine note represents something we can eat or drink; “Microbiological –
Lactic – Sweaty” might not be so pleasant (unless it is your own sweat which, admit it, you
find inspirational), while the “Chemical – Pungent – Ethyl Acetate” track equates to the
beloved smell of nail polish remover (an indication that the wine has been spoiled by vinegar
bacteria). Among the “Woody” notes, the “Resinous” subgroup includes vanilla, cedar, oak
and tobacco, the “Phenolics” include bacon and that medicinal smell, “Burned” notes include
coffee, burnt toast and smoky; most of these woody notes achieve good frequency in wine
reviews.
Professor Noble and company do not suggest we form-fit every impression into conformance
with the wheel. “These terms are NOT the only terms that can be used to describe wines,”
the instructions indicate, “but represent ones that are often encountered.” I suspect that my
own note, “baseball mitt,” which specifically is the taste of the leather string on the mitt that
I have been chewing since I have nothing better to do because I have been placed out in right
field because no one hits there, might fit somewhere in the “Resinous” group. “Yum,”
“Ethereal,” and all those other subjective terms are not on the wheel, but that hardly means
you must abandon them entirely. Think of the wheel as an authoritative “consult me first”
resource and you will be on the right track. With many wines, even those of quality, the
wheel ought to cover most bases quite nicely.