While everyone's experience may be a little different - we loved this account sent to us by one of the Bristol workshop attendees. Thank You!

My One Day Wine Tasting Experience

I was in a bind. My best friend was having a “special” birthday, and I was completely flummoxed as to what to get her.  I really liked the idea of treating her to an “experience” and I was hoping for something fun that I could join in too. An afternoon learning how to make hand-made chocolates? Too dangerous for both of us figure-conscious ladies. A morning's lesson in cooking the perfect roast? Too gruelling for one us whose favourite place is not the kitchen. But a day long course in wine tasting with an accompanying lunch in one of Bristol's finest eateries? Perfect.

And so it was!

I tried new wines, made new friends, learned a lot, laughed a lot, had some preconceptions overturned, established  a new relationship with my old enemy Chardonnay, and most importantly of all, was reminded once again of just why I love wine in the first place.

"...I tried new wines, made new friends, learned a lot, laughed a lot..."

Our day long course took place in the heart of Bristol (Wine Unearthed host these workshops throughout the UK). When we arrived around thirty or so others were already seated at long white tables, a baffling array of wine glasses in front of them. For a moment I wondered whether I'd stumbled into someone else's wedding reception by mistake. No Best Man acting as master of ceremonies here though, but instead our host for the day, Wine Unearthed's Philippa Vanham, whose knowledge of and enthusiasm for her subject was immediately both reassuring and infectious.

Looking back I guess I was a little apprehensive. Wine, like fine art, has for so long had that air of exclusivity about it and some small part of me was expecting a roomful of (male) wine-buffs who'd take none too kindly to someone who for many years used to chose her wine by the colour and design of the label (boats bobbing on azure seas, red parasols on golden beaches etc.)

Our first wine arrived and with it my first lesson. For someone who'll happily pour herself a glass of wine of an evening whilst talking on the phone and simultaneously cooking  it appears that I've forgotten that drinking wine is, at its best, a multi-sensory experience. Something that shouldn't be hurried. And something that should best be done with quiet focus.

I don't think I've ever really looked at the wine in my glass before – not really looked. Or noticed where most of the colour was concentrated, be it at the centre or at the rim. I've never known how to check a wine's viscosity by looking at its “legs”. Or discovered that swirling the wine glass by the stem oxygenates the wine, covering the sides of the glass and allowing you to experience the full fragrance of its complex perfume.. As we inhaled the scent of our first wine Philippa encouraged us to shout out our initial reactions. “Lemon?” someone said hesitantly. “May blossom?” queried another. “Apples?” suggested a third.

It was time to take a sip. “And remember, we're tasting, not drinking” exhorted Phillippa – and so we tasted. ”Elderflower!” shouted someone. “Gooseberries!” “Crème Caramel!” I had no idea there was so much to this business of simply tasting. Philippa encouraged us to note where in the mouth we tasted bitterness and acidity. I swirled the wine over my teeth to see what I tasted there. I noticed that certain tastes endured more on the roof of my mouth. And I discovered that there was a lovely word for all of this: “mouthfeel”. 

With wine number two came a surprise. Wine number one now seemed to have mellowed considerably and was rapidly going up the league table in some of our fellow drinkers' estimations.

We became bolder in our assessments. “Rhubarb crumble!” shouted someone to cries of acknowledgement. It's a great feeling when someone across the table confirms that, yes, hot gloss paint is exactly what you're smelling. Wine number three and I'm beginning to wonder whether I'm becoming more than a little suggestible. Just as I'm thinking “toasted tea cake in a fogged up cafe in Wales on a wet morning” someone from across the room shouts “Pledge furniture polish” and I think – yes of course, furniture polish, that's exactly what it is!

Wine number four and things are beginning to get a bit weird. “Petrol” I hear on my left. “The burnt skin on rice pudding” shouts the neighbour on my right. I notice that nobody's using the spittoon. Emboldened by the fact that she's yet to be shot down in flames for her observation that she's getting “Malibu and pineapple and a hint of Ambre Solaire” my friend takes a sip and says “I'm afraid that's like a very, very unsubtle pass”. Wine number one is rapidly gaining in popularity on our table. “Now wine number one” announces my neighbour seriously” “wouldn't divorce you and steal your boots”. We sip some more, we laugh some more. Eyebrows are raised, comments are shared. There's a wonderful spirit of conviviality in the room and still the observations keep coming. “Now wine number 3, she's the ditzy office blonde who's secretly reading War and Peace under the desk”... “Wine no 4's really very heavy. I'm sort of getting the bottom notes of a piano here”. If we carry on for much longer I fear we'll all be writing very, very bad poetry.

Luckily it's time for a bit of detective work and we must all marshall our resources and concentrate. We've been learning about the difference between the seeming elegance and class of the Old World wines of Europe and the bolder, brighter more upfront personalities of the New World wines of Australia and New Zealand. Can we tell the difference in a blind trial? I sense the men in the room gearing themselves up for a serious challenge. We're given two more wines. We look, we sniff and we taste, drawing the air into our mouths whilst gurgling as we've been taught to. We down glasses and prepare to pass judgement. “Well. I think we can say with certainty that they're both white wines” says some wag on my left.

A wonderful three course lunch arrives and along with it we sample a rose, a red and, for me, my very first dessert wine – not my favourite tipple it has to be said, but then it was much liked by the rest of our table. And that's the great thing about this wine tasting experience. Almost all of the wines we taste over the course of the day split opinions around the room. Wines, and people's preferences for them, are, it appears as individual as you or I.

That afternoon we saw off the reds. I learned all about tannins by testing which wines made my gums stick to my teeth. I discovered that as red wine ages it gets lighter, whilst white wine becomes darker. I analysed the colour by staring deep into my glass to see if I could see the stem through the bright ruby reds. At this stage I was beginning to worry that I might not be able to see much more at all. But still the observations kept coming. “Pepper”. “Roast beef”. “Sawdust”. “Wet earth”. I sipped dreamily at wine number 11. “Stick your pinky out” whispered my friend. “It tastes better that way.”

As we sampled our last wine and voted for our favourites of the day I was beginning to feel very mellow indeed. Of course like many I'd started the morning with many good intentions of trying hard to learn something new. I'd dutifully noted down my comments under the “nose” section for each wine. And I'd tried some A/B comparisons to see how finely tuned my palate might, or might not be. But by the final tasting I'd resigned myself to the fact that tonal distinctions and subtle nuances are great, and being a connoisseur might be something to aspire to, but ultimately the day is about reminding you why you like wine in the first place. Like trying to dissect your favourite piece of music, or asking what is it about the way a loved one smiles, sometimes the greatest pleasures can be found simply by giving yourself over to the sheer pleasure of it all.