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Pascaline Lepeltier: ‘The nose can be deceived, but the mouth much less so’

I had just spat out the wine, but my attention was much more focused than during the first few seconds of the tasting. Following my visual, aromatic and taste analysis of the wine, I had two things in mind: the quality of my saliva and the sensations left on my palate.

It is a few years since analysis of my saliva became an integral part of my tasting protocol, after I discovered the work of Jacky Rigaux and Jean-Michel Deiss on geosensory tasting. It started with Rigaux’s book Geosensorial Tasting: The art and manner of tasting wines of origin (Terre en Vues, 2015). Frustrated by the limits of analytical tasting, Rigaux wanted to highlight another form of tasting: that of 19th-century gourmets, winemakers and merchants.

Using a tastevin – a small, flat, fluted metal cup – the gourmets of that time favoured first the sight, followed by the mouthfeel and texture of the wine, ending with the observation of its persistence in the mouth. Aromas, difficult to perceive in this type of cup, were secondary.

The 20th century, according to Rigaux, saw a dramatic evolution in the methodology of wine appreciation. Everything changed in the 1960s when Jules Chauvet, a Beaujolais wine merchant and chemist, developed, at the request of France’s INAO institute, a new approach based on olfaction (sense of smell), which he considered far superior to taste in differentiating wines. It was a subject of prime economic and political importance at the time, to support the appellation contrôlée idea. The result was the creation of a standardised glass and a grid of terminology that emphasised aromatic compounds. These became tools embraced by oenologists, then by wine-growers, and finally disseminated by journalists and educators.

Yet according to Rigaux – and then winemakers such as Henri Jayer, Jean-Michel Deiss and Anselme Selosse – these tools, coupled with technological advances in viticulture and oenology, made it impossible to distinguish wines of place or terroir from industrial wines: the nose can be deceived, but the mouth less so. Hence recent moves to return to tasting according to mouthfeel and texture. This technique could help to recognise terroir wines, by relying not on sight and aromas, but on trigeminal sensations (such as touch and temperature) and the quality of saliva, seeking less to criticise than to understand the wine and the winemaker’s intention.

It’s an approach that spoke to me immediately: not only could it show notable differences between wines (even if difficult to interpret at first), but it invited me to take a much greater interest in my own physiology, to understand the mechanisms at play.

Scientific work on the subject began to emerge, notably Neuroenology: How the brain creates the taste of wine by Gordon M Shepherd (Columbia University Press, 2016), but also that of Gabriel Lepousez, a neuroscientist who was particularly interested in matters of salivation and interoception (awareness of internal sensations in the body, including the guts). Which salivary gland produces which type of salivation in reaction to which compounds in wine? How does the quality of these compounds matter – acidity, tannin, umami? How could this be linked to the wine-grower’s viticultural practice and terroir – the shape of the wine, its energy?… These paths that I continue to explore today have changed my view of my body and my tasting practices, forcing me to introspection.

To feel the DNA of a wine – whether it is a vin de lieu (‘wine of place’) or not – I have improved my mindfulness, changing my breathing and using yoga and meditation to gain better muscle relaxation and focus. I have also worked to better understand my digestion, to be as receptive as possible when tasting.

The results are amazing. I have never felt so good, or tasted so well. At a time when moderate wine consumption is under attack, I believe that a new mindful approach to tasting, inspired by this geosensory approach, can be a remarkable, holistic practice for our well-being, and our love of wine.


In my glass this month

The Loire’s Anjou, where I am from, is a great laboratory to explore the vin de lieu idea, thanks to a cohort of terroir-focus vignerons. Try Benoît Courault’s Les Guinechiens 2021 (US$63 Golden Hour Wine), an old-vine Chenin Blanc from one of the schistous hills of the Layon valley. The resulting saliva is very welcoming, both thick and refreshing, giving a lingering feeling of satisfaction and wholeness fuelled with delicate umami. A complete and vibrant wine!

Wine


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