Taste is often treated as fixed, but preferences can shift over a lifetime. A dog lover may become a cat person; a Bordeaux devotee might be won over by Burgundy. Reflecting on how his own palate has evolved, one wine drinker finds that some loyalties have endured while others have changed.
Cru Beaujolais has remained a constant since he first discovered it as a teenager. He still loves it, perhaps with more understanding now of the quality and craft behind the best examples. Even early on, he recognized the wines’ affinity with Burgundy and questioned the prejudice against Gamay.
His view of Sauvignon Blanc has changed. Like many drinkers, he was captivated by Cloudy Bay when it emerged, its bold New World style making Sancerre and Pouilly-Fumé seem restrained. A tasting of Sancerres from Vincent Pinard and Lucien Crochet later revealed how compelling the wines could be when their sense of place took precedence over the grape variety. He is now less drawn to Sauvignon Blanc’s most exuberant gooseberry and passion-fruit expressions—a shift that reflects greater understanding as much as changing taste.
His affection for Bordeaux remains, though he has less patience for austere Médoc wines whose lack of fruit can be mistaken for classic restraint. He still enjoys wines from both banks and has a particular fondness for certain crus bourgeois from St-Estèphe. While some experienced drinkers increasingly prize subtlety over power, he finds himself drawn to the youthful energy of red wines.
The clearest change, however, is that he now reaches for white wine more often. This is not a loss of affection for reds, but a sense that fewer occasions call for opening a serious red. White wines also benefit from being easy to keep chilled, especially during a hot English summer, but the preference runs deeper.
He has grown especially interested in how white wines age. Their evolution can be quieter and more gradual than that of reds, unfolding with a kind of grace. At dinner with friends, he opened a 2009 Graacher Domprobst Kabinett from Willi Schaefer. Its greenish hue had faded, but its apple-like freshness remained.
He was more apprehensive about a 1990 Kitterlé Grand Cru Pinot Gris from Schlumberger, a bottle that had moved house with him several times. The cork came out intact despite its dry, gray top. The wine initially offered a hint of aged mushrooms, then opened into a deep-gold pour with aromas of marmalade, cinnamon, and cloves. More than a collection of flavors, it seemed to transport him somewhere beyond description—to what George Herbert called “the land of spices,” and to the feeling captured in the words that follow: “something understood.”